


Don't Go

by LilyAngorian



Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: But their history hasn't been great, F/M, Following S3 finale, May's the only one who will look him in the eye, More Sex, Resolution, Sex, Tommy has fucked everyone else, Violence, difficult conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyAngorian/pseuds/LilyAngorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I feel like May and Tommy have a whole load of unfinished business. This is them trying to resolve it, one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rain was pouring, running in streams down the windows, pooling on the steps and drowning the roses. When the maid led in a sodden Thomas Shelby, eyes downcast and face as hollow and haunted as she imagined it could be, he could have been a ghostly apparition in the midst of the storm. It was only the maids creeping blush as she took his coat from him, and accidentally caught his fingers, that told May that she wasn't completely losing her mind. She rose from the armchair, brushing down her skirt as she tried to find a stance that seemed natural. She failed, hands awkwardly clasped onto the book she had been reading, her weight shifting from one leg to the other in an obvious mark of her discomfort. She blurted out the first thing she could think to say, instantly regretting her words.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She knew her voice was laden with everything. Bitterness, longing, condolence. It probably sounded a mess. But he seemed detached as he replied

"I'm sorry, May."

In his defence, he did look it. But then, how much regret was solely for her? He'd done little good in the world, no doubt there was too much regret to bear thinking about, let alone atone for.

"For giving me hope, or for taking it away?"

"Both."

He paused before seeming to reconsider.

"Taking it away." 

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of the clock, and of the maids hushed conversation as they passed in the hallway. May eventually spoke, her voice quieter, wringing her hands somewhat around the book.

"I was sorry to hear about your wife."

He didn't look surprised, but his voice took on a harder quality as he replied.

"Were you?"

"No-one deserves to die for someone else's crimes. She was innocent. It shouldn't have happened."

She found herself hoping he would rise to the challenge of her words, as his anger calmed her more than this uneasy silence. Anger she could deal with.

"You're as well informed as always."

"We were moving in similar circles. You, clearly, haven't followed her lead in regards to that. Perhaps you should."

Tommy didn't reply to that. May knew why. 'Polite' society was too much for Tommy to bear, he didn't have the the type of strength that it took to deal with the overtures and spite of those in her circles. She dug the knife a little deeper, wanting a response.

"Tell me, Mr Shelby, was it worth it?"

He didn't react for a moment. And then he looked furious. That quiet black Shelby rage that outwardly could have been passed off as nothing to those who didn't know him. Who hadn't seen him. 

"Worth it?"

May felt a slight rush at the harsh tone of his words.

"Whatever you did. Whatever you said. The cause of her death, was it worth it?"

She could tell he was holding himself back then, his fists balling slightly and his breathing deeper.

"I didn't come here to talk about this."

"I know that, I'm not a fool. I'm not the only widow you could try to squeeze empathy from - the widows of men who've died as a result of your family alone would no doubt suffice - but I am the only one you've ever managed to fuck. As far as I'm aware." 

That last was deeply bitter, accompanied by a cold appraising look. To his credit, he looked surprised that she had come to that conclusion.

"You think I came here for that?"

"Yes. You have your money, you have your family, your status. What else do I hold for you?"

Tommy looked across at her, but remained silent. He seemed to wince at the mention of his family. When it became clear he was not going to respond, she gestured him towards the sofa opposite her chair. 

He followed her gaze, and then looked down at his dripping clothes, before declining with a shake of his head.

"Sit down Mr Shelby."

"These days, I know not to damage furnishings like that. I know how much they all cost."

"You've already disrespected me in the most fundamental way. I doubt wet upholstery is going to worsen the issue. Sit down."

He looked around the room.

"Place hasn't changed much."

"Nor have you." 

Tommy sank down onto the sofa, adjusting his position, discomfort evident. 

May continued briskly.

"When it came down to choosing, I admit I'd thought maybe you'd write, or send one of your brothers with a message. I thought you'd be cruel, but I expected you to still have some sense of civility. I should have known better than to have expected anything at all."

"I wanted to talk to you. There was so much to do, dealing with the business and then with the wedding and the baby-"

"-You can spare me all that. Your perfect little happy ending. Only it didn't end as happily as intended did it? Some might say that was justified."

His gaze across at her then could have cut steel, and her composure was shaken. She'd been desperately baiting him, and now she wasn't sure it had been the right call.

"You think my wife's death was justified?"

She faltered at the force and venom of his words. It'd been so long, she'd forgotten the volatile intensity of his anger.

"I didn't mean-"

He gazed back at her, eyes suddenly devoid of any emotion. No anger, not even sadness.

"I apologise. I had no right to say that." 

Tommy stood, hands delving into the pockets of his trousers. 

"You people say what you like though, don't you? Always the same story."

"You are one of those people now Mr Shelby."

"I'll never be like you."

Colour rose in his cheeks as he spat the words across at her. 

"When I first met you, there was something else. Something deeper than all this bullshit. Was it a trick? A game that you wanted to play?"

May gestured her head slightly, no words coming to mind, and then slowly closed the gap between them. She could feel the cooler air around him and his sodden clothing, smell the restless burn of liquor on his tongue.

"You were always meant to be like me. Eventually anyway."

Tommy did not reply. They were too close now, both breathing heavy on each-other. May could feel herself slipping further from control. She had to do something to anchor herself, remind herself of the situation. 

"Do you want to fuck me, Mr Shelby?"

The coarse, stirring bitterness behind her words seem to strike him hard. His eyes flicked away from hers, glancing over her shoulder at nothing, at anything, and then back to her as she continued

"Maybe because I represent something to you?"

May felt her mouth twist around the words, amused at how well the same phrase applied after all this time, even when turned on him. She carried on, eyes undressing him rather obviously than he was expecting.

"If that's what you want, you can't have it. If it's what I want, you don't have a choice." 

It seemed to startle him somewhat, stirred what looked like a faint bemusement. She looked calm, controlled, head ever so slightly tilted, as if she was trying to decide her next move.

"And what do you want, May?"

When she kissed him the first time, it wasn't passionate. Her lips were cold, his even colder, his face unshaven and still damp against her powered cheeks. She did not touch him with anything but the kiss, their bodies close but not connected anywhere else. A standstill developed, with neither prepared to make the first move. May had known it was a mistake from the moment she had started leaning in towards him. Tommy had known it was a mistake from the moment his knuckles had graced the front door. Yet there they were, making mistakes as deliberately and forcibly as they could.

"I'm not a fool." May whispered into his lips. 

"I know."

She felt him move, saw him twist as if to leave, but instead he used the move to force her back, taking his chance to press her against the bookshelves. His breath was too much as it mingled with hers, sour against her nostrils. 

"You don't deserve me." She moaned forcefully into his neck

"I know"

His hands worked downwards, bunching the fabric of her skirt between his fingers as he pushed it upwards, caressing her thighs with a rough touch. May thought for a moment that she must look absurd, leaning against the bookcase, skirt pushed up to her waist, shamefully bare in the silent, open space of the room. But she had no longer to dwell on it before Tommy was falling to his knees before her. 

"You can't - not here, someone will come in..."

Tommy ignored her, mouth pressed to the milky skin he'd just exposed, kissing, nipping, sucking.

"Tommy-"

He looked up at her, all pale skin and blue appealing eyes, hair damp and sticking to his forehead.

"-Let them watch. What can any of them say?"

May gave in.


	2. Chapter 2

May was the only one left who didn't hate him. Well, he was sure that wasn't true. But she didn't hate him like the others. She couldn't, she hadn't known him that long, hadn't made the mistake of trusting his protection with a blind faith. Yet she'd never known just how dangerous he was. She'd viewed him entirely how she'd wanted to. The right type of wrong. Wild and rough, but not dangerous, not evil. He'd never cut her throat, slashed his razor across her eyes, pulled her hair from the roots as he smashed her head into the wall or the floor, floor flooded with her blood, echoing her cries. He'd never held her fragile needy body beneath his hands and crushed the life coldly from her veins. 

She would judge him only for his sins against her, at least until she picked up a paper, until she heard from a friend. She was safety when he could reach it nowhere else. 

"Russians. Mad, mad fuckers."

Tommy was sitting up in bed smoking, the pillows crumpled and folded against his back. It was hot, the sort of heavy cloying heat that follows a bad storm. The fabric of May's delicate slip caught at the light sweat on her hips and her hair was loose and tangled. She was leaning against the wall by the window, trying to cool herself.

"Not the first time someone's said that, I'm sure. Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"So what are we going to do?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well you've fucked me, and you're still here. Even worse, you're making conversation. Clearly you don't want to go home. So are you staying, or are you going to find someone else to throw yourself on?"

"Staying." He was soft, tired.

May looked mildly surprised.

"For a while anyway." He confirmed. 

"I'll tell the maids to lay another place for dinner then. Though they've probably already noticed you're here."

"I don't really feel like eating."

"What do you feel like?"

He could tell that she was waiting for an invitation to join him back in bed. Funny how roles changed in the stark light of day. The night before she had needed no such show of interest to spur her into action. But he felt nothing like lust.

"Shooting something."

"Something or someone?"

"Myself."

May shook her head. He could tell she hadn't been expecting that, but it didn't seem to bother her that much.

"Well if you do that then you'll definitely miss dinner. And I think it's lamb, so..." 

Tommy stared at her blankly, empty eyes locking on hers.

May maintained her stance, clearly waiting for him to speak, and then finally gesturing with her hand. 

"I don't think I'll tell you where I keep a gun. But you're welcome to a window, if lamb doesn't appeal. Try to stick to the ones on this side of the house, or you'll give the housekeeper an awful shock, and I'm not sure her nerves can take it."

She tapped the glass absentmindedly as she watched him, waited for his reaction.

"You've always got a clever answer for everything haven't you?"

Tommy felt himself weary with resignation, and May seemed curious. 

"Go on then, amuse me. Why does Thomas Shelby want to kill himself?"

"Why do you care?"

"If you're going to be a child about this-"

"-You should really watch your tone when you talk to a man like me."

"A man like you? A murderer, a gangster, a common thief? Perhaps you'd prefer me to watch my tongue, to simper and smile and pretend that you're owed any respect. Well I won't. You've done nothing to deserve it."

"Your emotions are getting the better of you."

"And yours are so buried I'd be surprised if you ever found them again."

"Then you should never have believed I was capable of loving you."

"Maybe I was just trying to see the best in you, despite my better judgment."

"That was your mistake then."

"Yes."

"I'll find somewhere else to-"

"-No you won't. You'll stay here. I suppose there's no point in trying to fight it."

"Fight what?"

"You came here. Why?"

"Because I had nowhere else to go."

"Because you saw this as a place you could go. Because you saw me as someone you could go to. For sex, for conversation, for dinner - it doesn't matter why. Don't you see?"

He did not respond, as she continued, running her fingers through her hair distractedly.

"And I let you in, to my house, to my bed. You know, when you never came back for me, I realised that my attachment had been deeper than yours. But I didn't for a second believe that it was about the money, or the damn horse. You care about me Thomas. Admit it."

Still nothing, his head low and his gaze even lower. He could hear her temper spike, coarse and heavy in her throat.

"Admit it, you coward."

"I love my wife."

"Your dead wife. Dead. The way you were last night, everything you said and did-"

"-I needed someone. You were...convenient." 

"Convenient? You - you fucking bastard..."

"I didn't want this to happen-"

"-I don't believe you. You may be able to lie to yourself, but I won't accept it."

Tommy sighed, passed a hand across his face and through his hair. He got up, found his shirt on the floor and started buttoning it.

"I've taken up enough of your time."

"I won't let you walk away from me again."

"I'm sorry May, for everything."

He heard a click as he fastened his trousers, and he turned his head to see her stood a few feet away, pistol in her hand. 

"What d'you plan on doing with that?"

"I hadn't decided yet."

"Well if you want to kill me..."

He walked slowly towards her, voice almost beckoning her into action.

"It's not like I've anything left to lose."

"You've got a son."

Tommy glanced towards the floor, head nodding fractionally as he replied

"A son who reminds me of his mother. Every time I look at him, all I can see is Grace."

"All the more reason."

Tommy looked at her wearily, took her hand gently, placed the barrel at his forehead. He felt her fingers tremble, want to fall from the handle, but his own kept them in place.

"I'm tired, May. I'm so tired."

He could tell that the anger had been sapped from them both, leaving nothing but regret, shame, sadness. 

"Admit it."

Tommy closed his eyes, sighed softly, May's insistent stare cutting through his closed eyelids, looking deeper than he could stand.

"I can't."

She kissed him again, longing and hungry and desperately sad, the gun still to his temple. But he gave her nothing at all, and when she pulled away, he was looking back at her, eyes empty. 

"I can't, May."

He watched her turn from him, just caught the tears scrape down her cheeks, few and far between but bitterly sharp. It was her instinct, social graces before anything. Even as her cheeks scarred, and her chest heaved with small convulsing motions. But what else could he say? What else could he do? It was too late for anything now. 

"You can come here again. When you need me."

Her voice was taught, strained. He knew she meant it.

"I won't be coming back May. It's not fair on either of us."

That changed her tone entirely. The thought of losing him again wasn't worth risking. 

"Walk out that door, and I swear to God you'll regret it."

Tommy sighed, lingered for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Eventually he turned and walked slowly towards the door. Too slowly. 

The sound was deafening. Tommy instinctively curling his left shoulder forward as he felt the bullet force it's way in. 

He turned his head, staggering a little at the pain, ears ringing and face a mask of shock. May still had her arm raised, partly horrified, partly proud. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy was incredulous, mind unable to come up with anything other than the obvious. 

"You shot me."

"I warned you.”

"No, May, you _shot_ me."

She was clearly unsure of how to react. He didn't feel that confident either. This was unchartered territory for both of them. Tommy could hear Arthur’s disdainful voice in the back of his mind. 

_Shot by a fuckin woman Tom_

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing? You can't just shoot people-"

May began to laugh at that, she couldn't help herself. After everything, that was the line he chose to go with?

"But you can, I suppose? You can do whatever you like, and the consequences can be passed off onto someone else, or dealt with with further violence. But the moment someone else follows your own philosophy-"

"-May, we're in your bedroom, it's broad fucking daylight and you have a dozen maids downstairs who are probably on the phone to the police right now."

It didn’t seem to bother her that much. 

"You aren't the only one with policemen in your pocket."

Tommy shook his head in disbelief, as his shoulder burned viciously. He ground his teeth, jaw tense and straining, but May seemed entirely unsympathetic.

"If you remember correctly, I seem to remember you asking me to shoot you."

"In the head. Not the shoulder."

"Well you didn’t ask me if my aim was any good.”

Tommy blinked over at her, blood attempting to leave at a rapid rate. 

"I'll send the maids to get a doctor. Tell them that the assailant got away. Anyone you’d like me to frame for you?" 

"I think it's a little too late for you to try and preserve my dignity, don't you?"

"That implies you had any to start with. I think I'd disagree with that opinion."

The blood was seeping heavily now. His shirt would be ruined. His jacket wouldn't be much better. May found a thick cotton shirt in her chest of drawers and threw it at him unceremoniously. Then she pulled herself together, started to get dressed. Tommy caught the fabric and gingerly peeled his own sodden shirt from his chest, loosening the few buttons done up around his midriff. He dropped the shirt on the floor. May picked it up, the blood seeping into the lines and grooves of her hands as she watched him inspect the wound in her mirror. The bullet appeared to be lodged deeply into his shoulder. 

"I'll call the doctor myself." She said quietly, as she took the shirt and left the room. Though she was keeping herself calm, her heart hadn’t stopped racing since the gun fired.

The maids were gathered at the bottom of the stairs, cowardice overcoming their sense of duty. She couldn’t blame them really. They seemed scared to see her, consternation building at the sight of Tommy's bloodied shirt in her grasp. She ignored them at first, walking with her head high and her expression blank, turned back once she’d already passed them on the stairs.

"There's been an accident. I'm going to call the doctor. Make sure he has everything he needs when he gets here."

"Is everything alright Ms Carleton?"

"Everything is fine. Our guest has a bullet-wound in his shoulder. As long as it is treated quickly, he should recover to his full health. As I said, make sure the doctor has everything he will need." 

There followed a clamour of questions from the maids, a few of whom seemed genuinely concerned.

"Are you hurt Ms?"

"What happened?"

"I am unhurt. What happened is none of your concern. No damage has been done to anything other than Mr Shelby's shoulder, and the longer I am detained by conversation, the longer it will take for the doctor to arrive."

She crossed the hall and picked up the telephone. The maids fell silent. 

 

*Several Hours Later*

 

Tommy awoke to the pale softness of her bed, the scent of her skin clinging to the close heavy air, the light breeze from the open window serving only to waft the smell of cut grass into the room, ineffectual at cooling his burning forehead. There was still a dull ache in his shoulder, spreading from the wound, down over his heart. If shed aimed any lower..But she hadn’t. He opened his eyes, blinking into the lamplight, and shook off the heaviness of sleep in an insistence to meet her watchful gaze. 

"I wasn't expecting you to fire."

"No. That much was obvious."

"Why did you do it?" 

"Did I have a choice?"

"A choice?"

"You were going to leave. You made it clear you had no intention of coming back. You were also clearly not in your right mind. I had to stop you leaving."

"I'm not sure a bullet was really called for. You could have just locked the door."

She gave him a withering look, eyebrows raised in mild annoyance. 

"And you'd have let me, I suppose?" 

"No. But it's the thought that counts."

They smiled at each other for the briefest of moments. Then Tommy frowned. 

"What did you tell the Doctor?"

"A version of the truth. You were in the house without me realising, having been let in earlier by a maid. I heard movement, saw you from behind and panicked, thinking you were an intruder. I happened to have my gun on me, and acted to protect myself against the possible threat."

"That's a very clever way of phrasing 'I shot my lover in the back to stop him leaving me'.

"It's perfect actually. You're criminal and dangerous enough for people to believe that your presence alarmed me, but respectable enough that you could have been in my house on business. Besides which, he's a family doctor, and he knows he's not paid to ask questions."

"You're starting to sound a lot more like me, May."

"Oh I don't think you're anywhere near as convincing."

Once again, the pause. The shared enjoyment of the exchange, however brief. It reminded Tommy why he'd wanted to leave. 

"I haven't called your family. I assumed they could hang on a while longer without you."

There was something in her tone. A knowing judgement. 

"Who told you?"

"The doctor. It was more of a warning than anything. Any man who can do something like that to his own kin...I think he was concerned for my safety."

"Are you?"

"I'd argue that anyone who's comfortable enough to shoot you in the back without even thinking, is likely feeling very assured of their own safety. This is my house after all, my bedroom. Even if it wasn't, I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"I don't think so. That won't achieve anything."

She was exquisite in the soft lamplight. Her black dress - probably something she bought for mourning her husband Tommy supposed - slipped around her body like water, skimming here, clinging there. Her hair was soft and slightly unruly, eyes darker than usual. 

"Isn't it part of the excitement?"

"What?"

"Being scared.”

She considered it, eyes flicking to his bandaged shoulder. 

"Well, you're not scared of me, so I'd say there was more to the excitement than that."

"Why I am so appealing then?”

“You tell me Mr Shelby, since you clearly believe that you are.”

Tommy grinned, despite the insult and the dull pain from his wound. May rolled her eyes, but continued in a more serious tone.

"You're damaged, inside and out. But you can still get away with talking to people as if you're sharper and more in control than they'll ever be.” 

Tommy didn’t miss the similarity.

"Sure you aren't thinking of someone closer to home?"

"That's rather my point. I wish I was as damn convincing as you. I admire you for that, and for your outrageous behaviour. You don't seem concerned about answering to anyone.”

“I assure you I am."

"Doubtless you are, but that's irrelevant really. It's the face you turn to the world that matters."

He nodded, lapsing into silence. 

"Why did you do it? To your family?"

"I had no choice. It was them or me. My son."

May frowned slightly, but nodded. 

"There's whisky downstairs, I'll go and get it."

"Can't the maids-"

"I think they've had enough excitement for one night."

"And you?"

"Not nearly enough."


	4. Chapter 4

May's hand slipped on the glass, whisky sloshing gently onto the bedsheets, soaking through to Tommy's skin. She didn't seem to notice, the thin trail left on the side of the glass falling in sporadic droplets across the skirt of her dress. She was sat on the edge of the bed, other hand nestled down in the sheets, holding her body tilted towards him. They’d shared silence reasonably comfortably up until now, but Tommy broke it at the feeling of the liquor on his side.

"You've had to much to drink.”

May seemed amused.

"Touching concern Mr Shelby. I'll bear that in mind."

It was the way she said it, lips caught around his name like it was too much. Likely the drink, but he couldn't be sure.

"Why d’you bother calling me that?"

"It sounds good."

"And Thomas doesn't?"

She smiled, almost a girlish grin. It looked out of place beneath her hardened eyes, beside her angular jaw, but it lingered nonetheless.

"You'd have me address a king without his title?"

"I'm no King, May. Not now."

"What does that make me then, if not the King's mistress? His equal?”

She tilted her head slightly, continued softly

"His better?"

Her intention was clear, that smile still painted across her face. She seemed contented with her baiting. 

"You've definitely had too much to drink."

Tommy made to take the glass from her, shifting to sit up, but missing her hand as she pulled away. May's mood soured a little at the gesture, her reply tinged with annoyance.

"Something that Edmund taught me. The world looks substantially better after a whisky or two."

"If by that you mean a bottle."

Tommy felt he might have overstepped the mark with that, but May seemed more resigned than angry, any amusement lost with mention of her husband's name.

"Yes, he usually did. You're hardly in any position to talk."

"I can hold it. Clearly some people can't."

May wordlessly accepted the challenge. She poured herself another, maintaining eye contact with him nearly the whole time. Then she threw it down her throat, and poured herself another. She began that with small mouthfuls, clearly aware of the twin dangers of losing her nerve and of losing consciousness. Tommy let himself sink back against the pillows. 

"Let's not talk about this."

"What would you have me talk about Ms Carleton?"

His lips did not struggle over her name. They both knew the eternal insult of that title, the connotations it carried. It was not a compliment, but a reminder. If she’d been any other woman she might have blushed, might have turned away with shame. But May was marble. 

"Talk about my breasts."

Tommy dipped his gaze to the sheets, almost in triumph. Marble and whisky seemed a good match.

"Or my hair, or my eyes or the smell of my perfume. Talk me out of this dress."

"Doesn't sound like I need to."

He could have reached out for her then, quietened her with a kiss, set her moaning with his touch. But he left it too late, his satisfied amusement serving only to stoke a fire.

"How did you talk to her? To Grace, your wife?"

Her words were sour again, resentment heavy this time. Tommy wondered at her moods.

"May..."

"Did she seduce you? Wrap those pretty long legs around you, kiss you, run her fingers through your hair? Or did she just simper? Wait for you to take control, make you feel like a man?"

"I don't thin-"

“-Edmund would have preferred I'd done the latter. He believed that women had their place. As do you." 

"What makes you say that?"

"For all her wild gypsy blood and conviction, your aunt is still below you. For all her intelligence and assistance, your sister is still a child in your eyes. You'd think Grace would be the exception, but you took the strength in her and you made it yours. Gave her a child and a big house and delicate tasks to concern herself with. You stripped her of everything that made her who you loved."

Tommy felt his chest burn, but he couldn’t place it to the wound, the drink, or her words. 

"You're wrong."

"Am I? Maybe not everything. She kept that perfect figure, even after she'd pushed out your fucking son."

Curses always sounded wrong in that upper-class lilt, too pronounced, too deliberate.

"You should stop talking."

"How could you do it?"

"May."

"If I'd come to you with the same, placed your hands on my stomach, what would you have done then, Thomas?" 

"How can you expect me to answer that?"

"Perhaps you think that child absolved you? Put everything into place so that Thomas Fucking Shelby didn't have to think about his actions anymore. Well I'll have you know it didn't. I was always here, waiting for you. That never changed."

“How many times do I need to apologise May?"

“Whatever you say is meaningless now. It's amusing the way time heals some, while others are left with broken bones and open wounds."

"Do you want me to leave?”

She raised her hand from the bed to press it heavily down against his chest, swaying slightly as she did so.

"Do that, and I swear I'll kill you."

And he knew she'd try. In this state, anyway.

"I'll stay then."

There seemed to be a finality to his tone, but May had long since learned to ignore the promise of that. She realised that her hand was dangerously close to the bandage around his shoulder, and drew it away. It seemed to have unsettled her.

"It's suddenly rather hot in here."

"I can't imagine why."

"I don't like your tone Mr Shelby."

“And what would you propose to remedy that?"

"Maybe I should shoot you again, ease the tension."

Tommy couldn't decide whether she was serious or not, but thought it best to deflect rather than encourage. 

"Don't want to risk you getting it right this time."

"No. I don't imagine you would."

Tommy thought for a moment, and then spoke quietly.

"Your breasts look good in that dress."

And as easily as that, May slipped seamlessly back into her drunken girlishness, seemed eager to embrace his lazy efforts. She put her hand deliberately, firmly between his legs, stroked the inside of his thigh. He grinned.

"I don't think I'll be up to much like this May." 

He gestured to his shoulder, but the hardness under her touch betrayed him.

"Oh don't worry about that." 

She dropped the glass on the side table, Tommy wincing at the crack on the wood as it landed. Then she knelt up on the bed, and slung her leg unceremoniously over his waist. She settled herself, hair falling into her face, dress pulled up, cunt bare against his thigh.

She rubbed herself against him, rocking her hips, dampening her lips with her tongue. Tommy was captivated, hands groping at her legs and arse as she leant over to kiss him, her hands cupping his cheeks, fingers locked tightly in his hair. She whispered in his ear, cold and hungry.

"Forget about her."

With a sharp stab to his gut, Tommy realised that he had already, that his actions were simply the result of being alone too long. Grace had already grown too cold, too distant from his heart. His wife was dead, and this is how he mourned her, hard beneath the soft skin and heady scent of a woman he'd betrayed her with before. If he’d any sorrow left to give…but he’d already spent more than his fair share, and he’d had months numbing himself against her memory.

May watched him closely, saw his eyes cloud regardless. 

“Isn’t it torture, Mr Shelby?"

“Call it what you want Ms Carleton.”

“Justified, then. I call it justified."

He met her gaze with steel. She rolled her hips back, let out a few sharp gasps, and then they both lapsed into languid, shallow breaths. The walls watched them, shadows low and writhing.


End file.
